They saw what looked like a large construction area, with bulldozed sections and piles of dirt, sand, and gravel. Captain Granderson, waiting here with one of the troopers in the car they’d “borrowed” earlier in the evening, said the area had been used by the Iranian army for maneuvers some years before. There were buildings across the road to the east. They were abandoned, but Granderson had decided to avoid them.

“We’ve been monitoring the radio,” he told Turk. “There’s been an announcement of an earthquake. But the military has been put on alert. They have aircraft all over the place.”

“Probably looking for us. We were shot down.”

“You were shot down?”

“Yeah. I managed to get it in, more out of luck than anything else. The pilot was killed.”

“Damn.”

“Did you hear anything about a MiG?” Turk asked. “I went after it with the nano-UAVs. I don’t know if I got it down.”

“I haven’t heard anything. It’s not always easy to understand what they’re saying, though.”

“What are they talking about, you think?” Grease asked, nodding toward Gorud and the Israeli. The two appeared to be arguing.

“Don’t know. Gorud doesn’t like him, though.”

“He said that?”

“You could just tell.” Granderson stared at the two men as if he could read their lips in the twilight.

“Does he trust him?” asked Grease.

“I don’t think like and trust are related,” said Granderson.

“If he didn’t trust him, he wouldn’t have let us go with him, right?” said Turk.

“He’s Mossad?” asked Grease.

“I don’t know. I think he’s actually a Russian who’s paid by Mossad,” said Granderson. “Based on what he was cursing about.”

“How do we get out of here?” Grease asked.

“At this point, go north through the mountains to the Caspian,” said Granderson, understanding the question to mean the country, not the pit where they were hiding. “We have two stash points along the way, and there should be two guys near the water waiting for us. There’s also a SEAL unit that’s a quick reaction force, more or less, that can help us once we’re farther north.” Granderson seemed almost matter of fact, but he was proposing they travel through rough mountains. “But we can’t do anything until I get the OK from the States.”

“You think we can sit here all day without being sighted?”

“If we have to.”

7

Washington, D.C.

“THE WHITE HOUSE POSITION THAT IT’S AN EARTHQUAKE is untenable,” said Shapiro, the Senate committee aide who was an expert on, among other things, the Iranian nuclear program. “Even if they are just referring everyone to the Iranian government. Every scientist looking at the data will know it’s false. They’re not going to be quiet about it. Already someone from MIT was quoted in a Web report saying it must have been related to their nuke program.”

Zen leaned his head back, gazing at the ceiling in the closed conference room. He could think of exactly one reason why the White House wouldn’t want to confirm that it had been a nuclear accident: the explosion was the result of a U.S. operation which was still under way.

Senator Brown, the chairman of the committee, gave him a sideways glance as Shapiro finished. He seemed to have come to the same conclusion.

Not that this necessarily made the President’s silence right.

“So am I correct that the members are not comfortable with the lack of information coming from the White House?” said the chairman mildly. He of course knew he was, and waited for only the briefest moment before proceeding. “What we want is an up-to-date, no-holds-barred, closed-door briefing. Do I have that correct? I’ll set about getting one.”

Brown tapped his gavel lightly before anyone could answer. Zen rolled backward from the table, trying to make a quick escape.

He didn’t make it.

“Jeff—Zen—if you could hold on a second,” said Brown. “I just need a word.”

Zen smirked as if he was a grammar school kid caught trying to leave class via the window. He backed himself against the wall and nodded to the others as they filtered out in twos and threes.

“You want me to talk to the President,” he said to Senator Brown when they were alone.

“Exactly.”

“You don’t think that’s the chairman’s job?”

“I’ll definitely call her, but it’ll be next year before she returns the call.”

“I doubt that.”

“Will you talk to her?”

“All right. But I don’t expect her to say more to me than she’s willing to say to you or the committee as a whole.”

“We’re supposed to be informed.”

Zen nodded.

“If this is the start of a war,” added Brown, “there’ll be hell to pay. Impeachment maybe. She’s got plenty of enemies around here.”

“Maybe she’s trying to stop one.”

“Either way,” said Brown, “the result may be the same.”

8

Washington, D.C.

AS FAR AS PRESIDENT TODD WAS CONCERNED, THERE was no choice—she had already committed herself to destroying the Iranian bomb program. If there was another site, or even ten more sites, they had to be eliminated.

Far better to do it with the tiny and apparently undetectable Whiplash aircraft. But the B-2s and B-1s were ready. If the team inside Iran couldn’t pull this off, she’d send the bombers in. She was not about to do what her predecessor had done and leave the problem for the next shift.

An overt attack by the U.S. was sure to have dire consequences. The Iranians couldn’t strike the U.S. directly, but they would surely unleash wave upon wave of terrorists. They might also take another shot at blocking the Persian Gulf.

Todd expected Secretary of State Alistair Newhaven to use that as part of his argument against an attack. But he surprised her, telling the packed conference room in the White House basement that he thought the attack must be pressed.

“I think it’s not a matter of debate,” said Newhaven, gesturing with the back of his hand at the map on the display screen at the front of the room. “In for a penny, in for a pound, as the old saying goes. The real question is what the Iranians will do. If I’m them, I push up my timeline. A lot.”

“If they’re capable,” said the Secretary of Defense Charles Lovel. “We don’t have enough data. Frankly, it’s not even clear whether they would go ahead with a test.”

“We have to assume that they have the capability,” said National Security Advisor Blitz. He studiously avoided looking at the head of the CIA, who sat glumly at the side of the table, all but wearing a dunce cap. “They have been ahead of every estimate. Consistently.”

“If they do test the bomb, they’ll have no material for another,” added Lovel. “We’ve wiped out their centrifuge arrays.”

“They’ll build more,” said Blitz. “We’ll have a twelve month to three year window.”

“I’ll take that,” said Todd. “In any event, that isn’t the issue at the moment. We’ll have time to analyze the situation further once we have more intelligence.”

She took a quick poll on a second attack, going around the room; it was unanimous. As was her custom, Todd let the others think that she was undecided until they had given their opinions; as usual, her mind was already set.

“We will continue the campaign,” she said, rising. “Covertly if possible, overtly if necessary. I expect a second strike within twenty-four hours. Our official posture, until then, will be as it has been: an earthquake. No leaks. Absolutely no leaks—lives are on the line here. And I don’t mean those of just our operatives.”

“Congress,” said Blitz. “The intelligence committee has been screaming—”

“I’ll deal with Congress,” said Todd.

ZEN WAS A LITTLE SURPRISED WHEN THE WHITE HOUSE called back so quickly, but the “invitation” to join the President for an early dinner did catch him off guard. When he hesitated before answering, the President’s chief of staff came on the line personally and told him that “Ms. Todd really wants to talk to you as soon as possible, and if you can’t make supper—”